


Regulus

by elis_is_not_here



Series: House of Black [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28457931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elis_is_not_here/pseuds/elis_is_not_here
Summary: Regulus Black, the true hero of Slytherin.But what happened in his final year, not only of Hogwarts but of his short life? The boy forgotten by so many, loved by so few and never remembered for his true courage and heroism. In his last year of Hogwarts, his life is turned upside down and he sends himself on a journey to defeat the Dark Lord, going against everything he's ever known, and learning about himself, and his new friends, and finally making the hardest decision he's ever had to face.
Series: House of Black [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084439
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

TW: abuse, violence, blood

He ran his quivering hand through his thick, dark hair, his breaths shaky and short. He could begin to feel the warm, thick blood roll down into his mouth, and waited for the metallic taste to hit his tongue like a wave.

"What's this? Are you going to cry?" his mother snickered, picking up another plate off the table, running her skeletal finger over the porcelain edge. With his slight blurred from the welling tears, Sirius could barely see where the plate ended, and her deathly, ice white talons began. She raised the plate, like a discus in some morbid Olympics, and spun it at him with all her might, snarling and cackling at him as she watched him dart underneath the coffee table. Her stony, grey eyes watched as the china shattered against the wall, the dagger-like edges shredding the burgundy silk curtains that lined every window in the sitting room.

"You little shit! Look what you've done to my mother's curtains!" she shrieked, picking up yet another plate, and marching over to him, the sound of the ceramic shards being crushed under her heels rang in Sirius' ears.

He curled further into a ball, digging his fingernails in his palms until his knuckles whitened and squeezing his eyes as hard as he could. It was not enough. That same skeletal hand reached over him, grabbing a chunk of his head and pulled. He grabbed onto the table leg, his head being yanked backwards with immense force.

"Stop! Mum, stop I'm sorry!" he screamed, the tears beginning to roll down his cheeks, still round and soft with youthfulness. He felt the sharp pain of his hair being pulled out from the root, as he was dragged across the mahogany floorboards, kicking and screaming. The rough wood scraped along his back, creaking and groaning as he was pulled further and further, splinters piercing his pale skin. Suddenly, he felt himself stop, still curled up like a baby, the taste of salty water dry on the tip of his tongue, face sticky with tears. His lungs had seemed to shrink with him, air barely managing to crawl into them after each shivering breath. Slowly, he became aware of a throbbing pain that was gnawing at his ribcage, getting stronger and stronger every time his lungs struggled to fill themselves. He tried to reach his bloody hand to the source of the pain, attempting to shield it from further harm. He winced, as a flash of pain rushed through him, contorting his face in agony. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been lying there, seconds, minutes, hours. The pain was so awful that he couldn’t focus on anything but the rhythmic pulse of torture all over his body, he couldn’t even remember a time before this pain, let alone imagine a future without it.

"Get out," the woman whispered, through her blackened teeth, hissing like a snake, spittles of venom landing on his bare skin, "I never want to see your ungrateful face again.", she spat , her cold lifeless eyes glazed over, unreadable, as though there were nothing behind them but a wretched oblivion of hatred and bitterness.

He rushed to his feet, slipping on the emerald Persian rug, even with his head lowered and his broad shoulders slumped, he managed to tower over the witch before him, yet he felt as though she was so much larger than him in every way. He limped out the room, her narrow figure hovering behind him, he could almost feel her rancid breath down his neck. He carried on marching out, into the candle lit hallway, still not daring to turn his head and see her face again. The intricately carved ebony banister ran past him, he remembered sliding down it when he was younger, slipping off the sloped end, landing face first in the umbrella stand, leaving him with the crescent shaped scar carved into his temple. He reached out to touch it, one last time, but his hand was slapped away by hers, with a harsh hissing sound that made him flinch away. He kept his eyes on the polished floorboards that lined the hallway, and in the dim glow he could almost see his face reflected back at him.

“Fuck, ”he thought to himself, “Is it really that bad?”.

He carried on walking, taking small measured steps, counting in his head to ignore the throbbing pain from his head, the warm trickle that was running from his nose, telling himself to wait a minute longer before letting the ocean of tears crash onto the shores of his chiselled cheekbones. One more minute, then he could be weak, but not in front of them. No, now he had to appear just like them: callous, unforgiving, devoid of warmth and feeling, devoid of anything. They could never know how much he truly wanted them to love him ,to be proud of him.

A scampering sound came from above, so light he almost hadn't noticed; he wouldn't have if he hadn't been listening out for it, hoping and praying that it would come. Sat behind him, was a scrawny pale child, hunched over at the top of the stairs, chewing at his thumbnail, black eyes wide and unblinking, covered with fluffy tufts of inky hair. His skin was so pale, he seemed almost like a corpse, only made more ice-like by his dark hair and pitch black turtleneck, woven out of delicate cashmere, that was tight over his bony limbs. He was sitting bolt upright, almost a mirror image of his brother, just less bloody and with a face which looked as though it had never learnt to smile. He didn’t say anything, or even move, just sat watching and blinking heavily. He leant down, slumping like he’d been punching in the gut, and began chewing his thumbnail and began to pray that the tall, wounded figure in front would turn around, decide to stay, not abandon him here. Or even, just to look at him, to say goodbye, to acknowledge he existed and that he didn’t hate him.

Sirius carried on limping, further along the hallway until his hand rested on the brass doorknob, and began to lightly twist it. He stopped, hesitating. He fought the urge to look back, there was no point. He knew Regulus wouldn’t care, he’d be glad to see the last of his stupid, blood traitor brother, to finally be free of the screaming and shouting, the broken plates, the blood stains in the carpets. Regulus would be happy, his parents adored him, he was the perfect son, the paragon of pureblood perfection. In Sirius’ mind, he was the last person Regulus needed in his life.

Sirius was wrong.


	2. Chapter One

Three Years Later  
(September 1978)

“Reg! Long time no see!” called Icarus, pulling in his friend for a hug, rubbing his broad, tanned hand over Regulus’ slicked, dark hair, half-returning it to its natural fluffy, curly state. 

“Greengrass, you prick”, smirked Regulus, trying to shove his friend away but failing at even making the tall, broad and muscular blond even lean. Icarus only began to laugh more at his stick thin friend struggling to push him. In the end, he managed to make him wobble slightly, and almost brush the stone walls of the corridor with his robe. Regulus held back a grin, stifling the pride he felt at having the smallest effect on his god-like friend, knowing that if he’d get too cocky Icarus would easily be able to tackle him to the ground to humble him. 

The other two friends trailed behind, watching their mates playfully fight, understanding their place as inferior. Edwina Carrow and Xavier Selwyn lacked the fortune or the good looks to compare with other purebloods. Xavier sneered at the display in front of him, muttering curses on the two, glaring at any passers by with particular venom. Edwina, however, took the lack of status more graciously, flitting her watery blue eyes towards Icarus, then bashfully darting them away, fooling nobody as a flush came over her pallid, hollow cheeks. 

“Oi Xavier!” commanded Regulus, clicking his fingers as if directing a house elf, “Take these, put them in the dorm. Thanks mate.”, he said, dropping his Transfiguration books into Selwyn’s hairy, ape-like arms, and strutting off with Icarus without a second word. 

“Oi! Where are you going then? You have this next-”, said Xavier, running after the pair, tripping over his own sluggish feet. 

“What does it look like? Skiving. Leave us alone, Selwyn”, shouted back Icarus, rolling his eyes at the desperate henchman. He wraps his arm around his smaller, dark haired friend, and walks off, whispering jokes about Selwyn being a leech to Regulus, who sniggered in response. 

“Show me again!” said Icarus, his sea-green eyes wide and lit up, as he sat next to his friend on top of the Astrology Tower, long golden locks blowing in the breeze. 

“Fine. You really are obsessed with it aren’t you, ‘Rus”, sighed Regulus, leaning closer into his friend, and cautiously rolling up his sleeve. There it was. The black ink swirling up his forearm, still but almost glistening like snakeskin in the sunlight as it weaved over his skin and around itself. It seemed alive, as though it was writhing and crawling over him, whispering dark secrets that you couldn’t hear unless you knew what to listen for. So simple, a snake and a skull, intertwined and woven together, yet so-

“Beautiful”, Icarus murmured, tracing over the mark with his finger, delicately. He smiled, entranced by the way it shimmered, and the contrast of the jet black and his boyfriend’s creamy pale skin. 

“By Merlin, stop it ‘Rus, someone might see”, he blushed, pulling his arm away, eyes searching around to make sure they were still alone. The wind began to pick up, blowing Regulus’ hair into even more of a mess, covering his face with long unruly tufts. Icarus began to laugh, and tucked a strand back behind Regulus’ ear, brushing it out of his face affectionately, then cupping his face gently, staring into his eyes. Regulus couldn’t look back, he never could look into anyone’s eyes. It felt weird.

“Why would it matter? We’ve been together for over a year, aren’t you tired of pretending?” asked Icarus, leaning away, tucking his legs into himself, closing himself off, “I’m tired of it. I got tired of it a long time ago.” he sighed, turning away.

“Don’t be stupid, of course I want-”

Regulus trailed off. He didn’t want to put it into words, the pressure he felt weighing down on himself, every minute of every day. Sometimes it felt like he couldn’t breathe, that he was being choked by his own perfectionism. If he stepped one foot out of line, the message was clear, the vivid memories of scarlett stains, shards of porcelain, the sharp sounds of kicking, slapping and screaming. Of Sirius. The sounds were so loud, even when they weren’t, he felt like he needed to cover his ears, hide, or he’d combust. The night his brother left, the ruined curtains that he had loved so much, the silky smoothness of them that he would hold and rub between his fingers for hours as he read, because he needed the feeling. Nothing was the same without Sirius, because without him there, Regulus no longer appeared perfect. His faults became so much more obvious, not to his mother, but to his father, who barely could look at him any more. If this were to come out, he’d never be able to fix it. He’d be ruined forever.

“My dad hates me as is”, he finally said, after a long pause, refusing to hold eye contact still. He pulled away and began to climb back down the ladder into the main castle, “I thought you understood.” 

Regulus carried on walking through the corridors alone, quickly rolling his sleeve down as he marched through the hallways, keeping his head down. He was trying to ignore Icarus shouting after him, trying to block out all the noises around him. They were becoming overwhelming. He swung open the door to an empty classroom, running to the very back and ducking underneath the desk, covering his ears and breathing slowly, trying to calm down.

He heard the door swing open, and his breaths became faster and faster. He couldn’t face Icarus yet, he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

“Anyone in here?”

It was a girl's voice, high pitched and singsong. Not Icarus. The girl began walking towards the back of the room, Regulus bent further down to peer from underneath the desk. He could only see the bottom half of the figure. She was wearing loafers, with small chunky heels, paired with those ankle length socks trimmed with frills, like a toddler. Her legs were long, tanned and olive toned, and her skirt was shorter than the uniform allowed. Regulus knew who it was immediately and rolled his eyes.

“Is anyone here?” 

“Fuck off, mudblood”, he muttered, slumping against the desk in a huddled ball.

“I can hear you, nazi boy”, sighed Esther, walking around to the back of the desk and crouching down to Regulus’ level. She was undeniably pretty, neatly curled mahogany hair tied up away from her heart shaped face, a few strands left out framing her wide-set deer like eyes, deep brown in colour. Her lips were glossed, a shiny, peachy-pink colour, and small and pursed. Her one insecurity was her nose, hooked and rather large, yet even that didn’t take away from her allure. 

“I don’t want any trouble-”, she began, smiling condescendingly.

“I was here first, Gendelman.”, he interrupted, short and sharp, through his teeth.

Esther stared at him, still trying to smile through gritted teeth, wondering how to begin her next sentence. She didn’t even want the room that badly, just to win against that bigoted dickhead. 

The door swung back open, this time a short, stout girl with a monobrow and pig snout walked in, sneering.

“Oi, mudblood, you want trouble?” she said, folding her strong, brutish arms across herself, blocking the doorway with her broad frame. She glared at the girl in front of her, her girly hairstyle and how she wore her uniform in a stupid, vain way to attract attention. 

Esther made a move to try and escape, but Edwina grabbed her arm and twisted it, pinning it against the girls back, making her wince in pain. Edwina watched her struggle and squirm trying to get free, and smirked in delight at the display of pain.

“Oi, Reg, get over here and fuck her up!” she bellowed, jerking her head in a beckoning motion, grinning as Esther tried to pull herself free. Her long, tan legs were trying to kick behind her, but she only succeeded in getting her heel caught in the doorframe. 

Regulus heaved himself up, and ran over to the doorway, cracking his fists in anticipation. He raised his arm, ready to hit her right in her gut, smirking at the fear and panic. Her eyes looked even more deer-like than usual, except this time a deer caught in headlights. He began to move his fist forward, preparing for a squeal of pain, just like when his mother-

He stopped. He remembered all those nights, the punches his mother would throw, the fear in his brother’s eyes just as real as the fear in the eyes in front of him. 

Suddenly, Esther freed her show, and lifted her leg to kick her captor in the knee, making her buckle and fall to the ground. She slipped behind her and ran out of the room, down the corridor and out of sight.

“Bitch!” howled Edwina, rubbing her knee, and biting her cheek from the pain, “and Regulus you fucking idiot! Why did you stop?”

“Sorry, I thought I….heard someone coming?” he mumbled, kicking the ground, cheeks blushed out of anger, or embarrassment, or both. He wasn’t sure. 

“Let’s not tell Greengrass about this one, ok Carrow?”, he said, walking over the huddled heap on the floor, and leaving her there, trying to focus on anything except the thought of his brother, or the guilt that was beginning to return to him.


	3. Chapter 2

Esther Gendelman had dealt with her fair share of bullies. First of all there was Rebecca at B'nai Mitzvah lessons, who pulled her hair and told her it looked like a bush. That’s when she began to straighten it. Then there was her sister’s boyfriend, who made fun of her for being chubby, and for eating too much. That’s when she started to count her calories, and skipping meals. But this was different. She couldn’t simply change herself to fix this problem, she was a mudblood and she couldn’t change that. 

She burst into the girls toilets, running over to the mirror, grabbing bundles of tissues on the way to dab her eyes with, making sure her mascara wasn’t running down her rounded cheeks. Looking in the mirror, she inspected the damage. She ran her thin, manicured finger down a cut on her cheek, realising she hit her head as she made her rushed escape against the tall oak wood doors of the classroom.

“Who is it? Leave me alone!” whined a hollow voice that came dancing through the air towards Esther. It was coming from a short, round girl, with comically large spectacles balanced precariously on the end of her long, downturned nose. Her hair was pulled tightly into two mismatched pigtails high up on her head, only emphasising her moon shaped face and tall forehead.

“Myrtle, this is a public bathroom”, sighed Esther, wiping the blood off of her cheek and stuffing more tissues up her jumper sleeve for later. Myrtle floated in front of her face, squinting, and looking alarmingly like a tortoise. 

“It’s not my fault I died here”, she wept, flying off across the room to sit curled up on the windowsill in a strop. All the other Hogwarts ghosts were happy to stroll around the castle and its grounds, but not Myrtle. In her opinion, her cubicle was her home, and the door of the toilets was where the world ended.

“Sorry Myrtle, I had a shit day. You really don’t understand what it’s like having to deal with all these pureblo-”. She trailed off, sighing slowly as she realised what she said.

“I wouldn’t understand?” Myrtle screeched, flashing back across the room to face Esther, her blue transparent face tinted purple with anger, “ I wouldn’t understand? I was killed by bullies! Killed.” 

“Sorry Myrtle”, she whispered quickly as she grabbed her things and rushed out of the toilets, all too aware the angry, little ghost was sweeping towards her screaming curse words so loudly it felt as though the room was shaking. Esther tried to grab towards the door, breathing heavily with her eyes wide with panic. Shaking the door with all her force, praying to HaShem that it would prise open in time. She carried on pulling, the door creaked and moaned but refused to budge, as if there was a magical lock on the door….

“Oh shit! Alohomora”, Esther shouted, pointing her holly wood wand towards the door handle, and pulling again with all of her force. The door swung open, almost hitting her in the face with the sheer force. She ducked as Myrtle propelled herself towards the door with all her speed, watching as the blue spectre shot through the door and out of sight. After peering round the door to make sure that Myrtle had gone a safe distance, she began to walk as silently as she could, before running up the stairs towards the Ravenclaw tower.

“I’m going to kill that bitch”, muttered Edwina, slouched on top of a cracked leather armchair, picking at the stitching on the seat. She’d wrapped her knee in an old bandage, and was still rubbing it every few minutes with a self-pitying pout on her skinny, wide mouth and whined about the ‘dreadful pain’ as she flashed a hopeful look over to Icarus who was sat opposite, staring at the large window into the lake, silent and unblinking.

“Bit dramatic, Carrow.” he muttered, making the shorter girl jolt up like an excited puppy at the minimal attention, a smirk on her face and a fizzing feeling in her stomach. Xavier, on seeing this sickening display of hopeless desperation, rolled his eyes and leant back further into the velvet lined chaise longue he was reclined on.

“I think she has a point. One less mudblood in the world, not going to harm anyone really. And ever since Regulus got the…”. He stopped, realising they weren’t alone in the common room, as a third year had invited their Ravenclaw study group into the room and were sat mere feet away. “ Well….”, he resumed more quietly, “ Maybe we should do something for the cause…something proper.”

No one spoke for a moment, glancing at each other and wondering who should speak next, hearts pounding with the adrenaline of even the idea of bloodshed.

“I wouldn’t mind it.” muttered Regulus, feeling a hatred for the girl build up deep inside of him. Her condescending smile, those wide set innocent eyes, her stupid laugh, her idiotic friends who huddled with her all times as though she were some kind of goddess. 

“Are you sure Reg?” asked Icarus, those deep blue eyes wide with concern. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in the dark lord, his ultimate power and supreme right to rule, but that he was afraid of the lengths that people would go to prove their allegiance

“Yes. Let’s do it. It’s only right, after all”, Regulus said, a new determined look glistening in his dark eyes, a small smile crawling onto his lips as he imagined the pride in his father’s eyes. Regulus Arcturus Black, the youngest mudblood hunter, the jewel of the Dark Lord’s council, the pride of Slytherin. Finally, his family would have removed the shame of his brothers betrayal, the House of Black would be redeemed, and he would be Slytherin’s hero. 

Imagine. Regulus…..the true hero of Slytherin.


End file.
